


You Don't Own Me

by xtenn



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Adoption, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arguing, Dancing, Dogs, Drug Addiction, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Hospitals, Kissing, Office Sex, POV First Person, Paintball, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Therapy, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtenn/pseuds/xtenn
Summary: What Kate thought ... a modern era rewrite.All credit to Ms Quinn for her characters and stories.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Edwina Sheffield, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 65
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Kate has not dealt with her past and the language she uses to discuss her origins are offensive.
> 
> These are not my views. I hope to address this as I write more.

Ever done something so bad - so shameful - that you can't even tell your therapist?

Yeh, well. Probably not. Not unless you're a complete fuckup. And I get it - they're professionals! They've heard it all! But this ... yeh. Fuck, this is bad. Hear me out, OK?

So lately we have been working through my issues with sister, Ed - although I should be honest, when am I not working through my issues with her? And shit, I shouldn't have issues with her. She's so lovely. She's so great. She never fails to respond to my texts - and she responds immediately, to all of them, and even texts me almost every day too - so you know it's love. She even shares with me - like directly, just in case I missed it in her story or something - what she considers the best of her trite Insta wellness mindfulness bullshit, and she does it with this earnestness that makes me think she really does believe it all. I mean, she should as it all seems to be working out for her - spruiking that new age junk pays her bills substantially more easily than my variety of temp admin jobs ever has. Not that I'm jealous.

And I certainly do not hold it against her that she with her pasty white ass is the biological child of our WASP parents, and I'm just the adopted brown kid from some colonised hellhole that they took in 20 years ago for God only knows what reason. Guilt? A misplaced sense of righteousness? Complete ignorance of the impacts of white saviour complex?

Whatever. Let's not explore that particular abyss any further right now.

OK, so where to begin. Deep breath.

Edwina has a boyfriend for the first time. Not surprising, she's a solid 10, fit as they come. And she's 21, so you know - about time, right?

But this one? He is wrong, on every level - _wrong, wrong, wrong_ \- and sure, I didn't really know him, but you can't work a day at the hospital around here without finding out all you need to know. 

As a side note, don't judge about the work thing, yeh? Not today. Filing and general admin work at the fucking hospital isn't exactly a stellar use of my Art degree but at $17 per hour, it pays a whole lot better and hell, I can show up on time and alphabetize, so it's easy money. But the whole adoption thing and my career choices - these are not the topic for discussion right now, yeh? We cool with that?

Anyway, let's stay focused: Ed's new boyfriend.

Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton.

He's a decade older than her (gross). 

He's convinced that he is God's fucking gift to orthapedics, which ... I mean, really? It's carpentry with a side of embroidery - cut 'em open, screw the bones together, sew 'em up. Get back in touch when you're a paediatric oncologist, and I'll be all heart-eyes then.

Apparently he's got like, seven siblings or something, and has basically been a dad to the younger ones - there's some sordid story there. I heard something like him and the next three are all direct siblings, and then the following four were cousins that the family took in after some car crash tragedy or something? And then his dad died super young too - so basically it's been Anthony and his mum ( _fuck_ , she must be a _saint_ ) raising this immense family for the last decade. I'm sure it was all totally noble for the Bridgertons to look after their cousins and for him to play the part of dad and do all this - I mean, he was in his early 20s and suddenly had seven younger kids, right? hell that's _intense_ \- but that doesn't make him a hero. We've all got our family shit, right?

And despite that - fuck, maybe because of it? Who's to say? - between him and his old buddy Dr Hastings (another bro orthopedic surgeon, naturally), they've screwed every nurse and resident on staff and for miles around no doubt too. OK, I'm not entirely sure about the men, but I'm open minded enough to think it's a solid possibility. I get that workplace sex has all sorts of super creepy power imbalance undertones, and I don't want to imply that - from what I've heard, everyone was an extremely willing participant in whatever horizontal or even vertical dance the doctors suggested. Because I mean ... those two? They're _next level hot_ \- gorgeous specimens - just, really goddamn yummy - and by all accounts, an extremely good time was had by all. 

_What?_ Just because I think they're fuckbois doesn't mean I'm _blind_. And honestly, who would really care if they've screwed around with any number of consenting adults? We can move past any moral issue there, right?

But our Ed? Look, I say this without shame and you didn't hear it from me, but ... yeh, she's entirely untouched. Virgin, in the very real sense. Not even so much as knuckle deep after a rub in her pants. I once had to explain a hickey to her, and after I had calmed her down and reassured her that it had occurred with my full and very enthusiastic consent and there was really no need for her to contact the cops, she fucking _blushed_. This was literally the other month. We were both in our 20s at the time. It's not a God thing, either. Just saving herself, I guess. Edwina is so .. proper and pretty - she's our petite and perfect princess. Maybe cum - hell, maybe even her own slick - is just too yuck for her? Might dampen the crotch of her $150 yoga pants or ruin the balanced scents of her aromatherapy? Fuck, I just don't even know but that's how she is and those are her choices and she's my sister and I love her.

So with that in mind, you can surely totally see why I might be a bit in her face about her choice of man, right? Like, as her older sister - adopted or not - it's my damn job to be bloody concerned. Right? And Ed has even said as much before - sure, it was just an insta story on my birthday, and maybe it meant more to me than it should have, but amongst the happy birthday and celebratory emojis, she did say something like "I turn to her for advice on all my important decisions, because as my big sister, I know she always has my best interests at heart " (heart in five different colours, kissy face). 

Now apparently Dr Hastings has "settled down" and gotten married or some bullshit. Yeh, cool, whatever. Congrats, buddy, on finally after the age of 30 growing up the smallest possible amount to consider commitment and faithfulness before the buckets of antibiotics you've no doubt taken for repeated bouts of gonorrhea, syphilis and chlamydia rot your intestines even more than your incessant whiskey consumption. _Good for you._

OK, OK, maybe I am judging these man-whores a bit harshly there.

Whatever. That's Hasting's deal. And that does not mean - not for one second - that Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton has any intention of doing the same. And even if he was? _He can still keep his filthy 32 year old hands off my 21 year old virgin sister._

Then this happened. The thing I can't even tell my therapist about - God, she would have a field day. Probably write a fucking paper on it. 

Fuck.

Fuuuuuck.


	2. Chapter 2

Just, to be clear, before I go into exactly what happened - you have to know that I have met Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton.

Twice.

Like, he knows exactly who I am.

The first time was at the gallery - I had a piece in their new show, and so I went to the opening night. I mean, no one but Ed knows it is mine because I use my other name and it was just one piece, but - I'm sort of kind of proud of it, just a little. I spent a lot of time on that, and there it was - up on the wall, next to other works by real artists who do this full time. I had put on this black jumpsuit that I like to think makes me look like Fleabag (but, you know, brown, not Phoebe Waller-Bridge), and as much as I ever do, I felt ... I dunno. Good about myself? Like I was ready to have a fun time? Is that a thing? And what's really fucking annoying is that my piece actually sold - so all up, this was meant to be my night - and Edwina _fucking ruined it_.

Because of course she did.

See, Ed came to the opening - what a wonderful sister she is, she wouldn't miss it for the world, yadda yadda yadda all the love and sisterly devotion barf barf barf we look soooo great tonight can I add this picture to my story etc - and she bought Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton.

It was their second date.

We were introduced and he had the _fucking nerve_ to compare me to Edwina as his opening line. As lovely as your sister or some bullshit.

Um, I'm brown? And I'm adopted? Does he actually have eyes?

We then got into a ridiculous little spat as I may have disparaged his profession - _can't he take a joke?_ \- and then he asked what I did and Ed helpfully mentioned that I work at the hospital too. As a temp. In administration. Fantastic. I really needed that reminder right now, and why the hell had I told Ed to keep quiet on the art thing? And I may have said that he wasn't good enough for my sister, and he then said he was going to date her anyway because she was a grown woman - _she's barely 21, you fucking creep, how old are you?_ \- and the verbal sparring only ended when I stomped on his foot and stormed off to the ladies to have a hate angry cry before sneaking out the back and going home. 

Point is, if you choose to wear the same jumpsuit as Fleabag - you have to know that you're _never_ going to look that hot having a smoke against a brick wall and you're _never_ going to get Andrew Scott into bed - but there's a good chance you will end up doing someone physical harm. 

The second time ... God, I haven't mentioned Newton yet, have I? My part-Corgi rescue. He mainly lives with Mary now, even though she hates him, but I live in a studio so it's not practical. Urgh, I miss his furry face. Anyway, this was going to be date #3 for our young lovers and somehow I was meant to be there too? Like, for the love of God, _why?_ Anyway, it was meant to be a casual walk in the park for us mere mortals but of course it became another opportunity for Ed to create yet more thirsty content for ravenous social media consumption. Not unusual. Of course, there was a whole group text conversation about who was meeting who where, because nothing with Ed is ever easy and God _why did I even need to show up anyway_ , but Ed batted her eyes and said she wanted us to all "get along" and Mary needed that damn dog out of her house and it wasn't like I had other plans so there we were - Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton and I walking towards the park with my overweight dog to meet Ed, who was already there with her greasy sleaze of a publicist. 

We talked, I guess. The usual small talk, but with added subtle yet jarring barbs where he insinuated I found him hot and wanted to jump his bones and I reminded him he had an intensely unhealthy interest in someone barely older than a child. He kept looking at me with this smirk like he found me funny.

I was not being funny.

And then ... yeh, then Newton did what Newton does. For a small fat dog, he can pull on the lead like a rottweiler and can run like a greyhound - so the dog got away from me, and me and Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton chased and yelled and swore at him until we were red in the face - but no luck catching the damn animal. And when Newton saw Ed posing next to the lake, he couldn't help himself. It's not like anyone ever accused him of being a _smart_ dog. But next thing I know, I'm trying desperately hard not to laugh as Ed gets an unexpected armful of fat dog, falls over backwards and goes swimming in the dirty water in her ridiculous outfit.

Of course, it was Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton who was right there to do the chivalrous thing. He waded in and helped her out, got soaked in the process.

He even grabbed Newton too, which I suppose I should like him for.

But I don't. Obviously.

Naturally, it was all captured on camera to be shared with however many thousands of ardent followers - complete with _my hero heart-eyes emoji_. Hooray for fucking tiktok. And yeh, of course it all blew up. Fail Army meets wellness influencer? That's solid gold. It was reshared and liked to infinity and beyond.

And for the first time in the history of social media, Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton liked something. The crowd roared. Fireworks lit up the sky. Commentators dissected _what this all could possibly mean_ in multiple podcasts. Ed's sponsors no doubt increased her cut and her life got even easier than the cruise it current is, because of course it bloody did. Some of us have to work multiple demeaning jobs for a living - others just look cute when falling in a fucking puddle of mud.

Pass me a bucket, because the smell of all this bullshit makes me want to hurl. _Could it be any more fucking fake?_

Anyway, you get my point: we know each other. He knows I'm Ed's sister. He knows I work in admin at the hospital.

So there's absolutely no excuse - for either of us - for what happened when we next saw each other, the following week in his office.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't know who kissed who first.

We were arguing - of course we were arguing. About why I was even in his office in the first place - I was doing my fucking job filing the fucking patient reports for the great Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton - and he made some snide comment about me waiting for him in there, like I was even _interested_ \- and I was yelling at him for quite clearly facetiming _his ex_ when the entire world thinks he is dating _my sister_ \- and he said that was none of my _goddamn business_ \- and it fucking _totally is_ , she is my _sister_ , who by the way is more than a _decade younger than him_ , and he's such a _fucking creep_ \- then and... yeh.

We were kissing.

Whoops.

And that kiss. I mean ... wow. Like, the word _kissing_ doesn't describe it. There was nothing sweet or romantic about this kiss. It was all open mouths and teeth and tongues and bodies pressed together until I could feel him through his scrubs and he was so hard for me. Fuck, that cock. I mean, hate sex is hot for a reason, right? 

God, why was it so good? Because it really, really was - like, I've had - or I thought I had had - good sex but this was ... just, wow. Little things like every time he moved his hands somewhere new he would pull back a bit - meet my eyes - a subtle confirmation that _yes yes yes yes yes I wanted this and just do it already_. 

But like, his _hands_. This broad pressure against my lower back, pulling our hips together like in some sort of erotic waltz until he had walked me back to his desk. And his fingers ... _sweet lord_. Surgeon's hands, I guess. He brushed his thumb over the little roll of skin I have next to my hip bone, just as he was reaching under my shirt, and I legit shuddered with pleasure. When his hand actually got inside my knickers - another quick check in my eyes, _is this what they mean by a gentleman, swoon_ \- two fingers were inside me, curling forward, and the heel of his hand grinding into me, and he knew where every digit needed to be. There was no fumbling around or frantic thrusting.

And all of the while this is happening, he is kissing me everywhere, moaning into my neck - _fuck Kate you feel so right for me, you're so wet Kate, God, this is so wrong but Goddammit Kate, you're so hot Kate, I can't stop thinking about you, I dream of you Kate_ ... it just felt good to hear what he said, you know? Like he wanted me but wouldn't be an asshole about it. Nary a single "fucking slut" or "I'm going to ruin you for other men" or "you'll only ever be mine again" or any other possessive macho bullshit to be heard. 

God we really need to talk sometime about how the bar for decent behaviour during sex is so goddamn low.

But with all that going on, can you blame me, if I was hitting my peak alarmingly quickly?

Full disclosure. 

I do know it was me who reached into his scrubs. And who asked for a condom.

And yeh, he double checked I was cool with it, because: _gentleman_.

And then he fucked me against his desk. In the middle of a work day, in his office. _My perfect little virgin sister's goddamn boyfriend._

Now stuffing a dick in me isn't going to get me where I need to go, usually - but not Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton. This man? He tried a bunch of slightly different angles, pulled my leg up over his hip, shuffled his feet and when he got that spot - and it did not take long, believe me - but when he got there, to that spot that makes the air rush out of you so fast you see spots - yeh, that one, you _know_ what I mean - then he worked it. Over and over. His thumb still rolling away at my clit and the other arm pulling me towards him and his lips on my neck, sucking against my pulse, and these words of lust and praise and desire - and my name, over and over, _Kate Kate Kate_ \- streaming out of his mouth.

Whatever hate or anger there was between us? It didn't matter because Dr Anthony Fucking Bridgerton was apparently more interested in showing me a good time.

A really, really, really good time.

I guess he came? Can't be sure. Mine just ... overwhelmed me, and once that was done he was out of me. Kissed me once more on the forehead, then turned away, pulling off the condom. Giving me privacy to pull my skirt down and my knickers back on, I guess.

Look, I won't lie, it makes me feel like stuffing three fingers inside myself whenever I think of it. Intense. Insane. Ludicrous, ridiculous. Sublime. _My perfect little virgin sister's goddamn boyfriend._

Even after all that ... I'm not proud of what happens next. ( _There's more, you scream?_ )

I was still mad, you know? And guilty too. So rather than being like, _what was that_ , or _thank you for the amazing fuck_ , or I dunno, something moderately sane ... rather than any of that, I growled at him. _If you so much as touch my sister, I will fucking end you._

And for a brief moment I wondered if I had offended him. He gave me this look, like he had actual _feelings_ and they were somehow hurt - but then he goddamn laughed. _I would like to see you even try._

I stormed out.

Didn't look back.

_What a fucking prick._


	4. Chapter 4

First up, no - I did not have a sensible, sisterly chat with Edwina about my additional activities in the office with her goddamn boyfriend. I'm taking that mistake with me to the grave.

I didn't even mention it when she announced at our family dinner that Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton had invited us both to a weekend away at their family home on the coast.

 _Both?_ What. The. Actual. Fuck.

So how did I respond? I legit almost smashed a plate. Like, sitting at the family dinner table, hearing about these weekend plans, and Mary being so thrilled for her - dating a doctor! meeting his mother! - and Ed was already planning her outfits and scoping Google maps for photo ops. Of course she was. Heaven forbid it's just a weekend away, and not an opportunity to influence the masses, one artfully curated and photoshopped image at a time.

But this noise - their inane chatter - it's washing over me and I'm seeing nothing but red. No. No, no, no, no. That man is going nowhere near my sister. She is going nowhere near him. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. Over my dead body.

That fucker still invited Ed, my sister, to meet his mother, after what we did? And he expects me to go too? Has he no goddamn _shame_?

Do you think I said any of that, though?

Ah, no. Course not. None of the above.

That would be called "naming your feelings" and "using your words", and I'm fuckloads better at this thing called "nodding silently" and "biting my tongue" followed by "drinking your feelings in private while smashing paint onto a canvas" and "swearing into the void at 3am when the bottle is empty".

Shush, you. Like you're any better. And my liver is fine, thanks for your concern.

And yeh, I cancelled my therapy this week. Nothing to do with this. I just happened to pick up an extra shift and sometimes it is quite nice to not worry about stretching my funds to last until my next pay cheque. Unless you're willing to cover my rent - oh, you're not? you don't have a spare few thousand dollars lying around? - so how about you just _back the fuck off_ about my therapy, yeh?

Look, I get it. What I did was wrong. How I'm handling it is not great.

But one thing I can do right is be a super shit hot amazing big sister by text message, right? So when Ed texts me all nervous about her relationship - _her relationship with the man I fucked in his office_ \- I'm nothing but supporting and loving.

That has to count for something.

She's worried because he hasn't kissed her yet and cancelled on their coffee date? _He's just not that into you, honey. Plenty of fish in the sea. You need someone who truly appreciates how amazing you are. Emergency surgery was just an excuse._

She's worried because he asked about this weekend, to see if we're still coming, and what if he's expecting that they'll ... you know? _Well, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Ed - don't feel pressured! A good man will wait until you're ready - and one that won't wait, isn't worth keeping around! There's no rush! You want to wait until it's special - and there's nothing wrong with that! You know your true value, and don't let anyone convince you otherwise!_

She's worried because this weekend she will meet his entire family? _Don't you fear, little sister - I'll be right there with you. The whole time._

I mean, what is the right thing to do here? I've thought about it, and I'm pretty sure there isn't an ulterior motive behind discouraging Edwina. Like, 75% sure. Less sometimes when I think about ... well, yeh.

Urgh, as a side note: I really wish he had been more terrible at the sex part. Those things he said about me? They're burned into my subconscious and reappear nightly in my dreams. _I dream of you Kate._ Likewise, you asshole.

It's all just fucking ridiculous, really.

And as for that weekend away? Will I go - will I take this opportunity to continue to cockblock the fuck out of Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton?

Stupid question, really.

It's not like I can let Edwina down now.

So yeh, pack my suitcase motherfuckers. We're going on a road trip.


	5. Chapter 5

Now, I might have made some objectively terrible decisions, but I'm not made of stone. I can't simply hang out with the guy I had hate sex with ( _amazing hate sex_ ) who also happens to be _dating my sister_ without some level of shame and guilt.

I knew that, though. I knew this weekend trip would be a challenge. 

I thought I was up for it.

Look, as good as the sex was, I'm hardly going to encourage a repeat performance. I'm not an animal, ruled by lust and rage. If I keep my pants on, and keep my little daydreams to myself, how hard could it be? 

Ha, _hard_. Terrible choice of words there.

But, yeh. Turns out it is really goddamn easy. Because Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton is simply the fucking _worst_.

First of all, I was completely blindsided when - during the million group texts organizing vehicles, because nothing with Ed is ever easy, _ever_ \- it somehow transpired that I would be getting a ride with the man himself. It was simply common sense that I would drive there with Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton, as he finished his shift on Saturday afternoon at the hospital at the same time as me. _Hooray for common sense._ But this meant: three hours in a car - alone - with him. _Christ._

Ed asked me to _please be nice to him_ because it was important to her that we got along. Fucking hell. Nice? To him? The things you do for your sister.

Of course the car itself was some ridiculous black sports car thing - what was I expecting, really? And I'm not sure what I hate more: the fact it had the most ludicrously comfortable leather seats or the fact that Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton has revoltingly good taste in music.

But worst of all was that Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton had the gall to apologise. He felt he _owed me an apology_ , he said. For the sex? I asked. And he just blushed - he _blushed!_ what the _fuck?_ \- and said, no, not the sex. For the whole situation. For people thinking he was dating Edwina because of that video (wait, _what?_ ). For arguing with me constantly about nothing. For being rude to me, every time we had met. For comparing me to Ed that first meeting. He just wanted to say ... sorry.

I muttered out a "thanks" and looked out the window.

I still don't want him anywhere near my sister.

And then! Fuck, then he spent the rest of the goddamn drive goading me into even more stupid little arguments - like it was his aim in life to make me cross. About music - slapping my hand away from the controls like a naughty child when I tried to skip a song, which turned into this whole touching thing until I forced my hand back onto my lap - stern words to myself: _rein it in, Kate, you will not flirt with the good looking sex god driving the car and dating your sister_ \- but this gave him the victory and allowed him to turn up the volume. About politics - oooh and that was particularly disgusting, because we actually agreed about most of it, and I have never felt such horror than when I realised that he shared and supported my very well considered and researched opinions. About the coffee shop near the hospital, and whether their new banana bread was as good as their old recipe - it is patently not, and if he had any taste buds at all then he would realise that. About whether to take the main road or the scenic route - and I told him to just hurry up and get there because everyone was waiting, but no! He took the scenic route anyway and then somehow got me to admit that it was really fucking pretty, and I fucking hate that he was right.

I kept thinking... do I ask him about the sex? Or are we just pretending it never happened? Because I think I'm cool with Option B. Isn't that for the best?

But all up, when we did finally arrive - finally! thank God! - and one of his younger brothers suggested afternoon paintball? Yeh, I was keen. I needed to shoot someone. Preferably Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton. That asshole was going _down_.

Um, no.

He shot me in the back within 10 seconds of the first fucking round. Eliminated almost instantly. _Motherfucker._

When everyone stopped for a break, he then gave me his second apology of the day. This time, in public. Standing up with a swagger. Throwing peanuts into the air and catching them with his mouth, crunching obnoxiously. Cocky and insufferable and smug.

_Sorry, Kate, I didn't mention that we play quite a bit._

It was all so egregious that the others noticed, too. I mean, not Edwina of course - yeh, she was physically there, but she was very focused on trying to get a cute photo of herself covered in paint and so for all purposes, she was off in Social Media Land. But I saw Hastings roll his eyes - so much for best mates. I saw his wife Daphne - a Bridgerton, I learned, a younger sister, and that's interesting to note - she raised her eyebrow, meeting my eyes as if to ask if I was up for a challenge, and you can bet that I responded in kind. So when Colin - younger brother, I think? cousin? not sure - pulled me aside, and casually mentioned in a whisper that defied all of the previously stated rules on teamwork and strategy that maybe, just maybe, I should crouch _right there_ for round two? 

I didn't need to be told twice. 

I got the bastard when he came around the corner. One shot to the chest. 

And I should have stopped there. But ... you've surely already worked out by now that I am not a nice person. Not at all.

I emptied my canister straight into him. Legs, arms, chest ... and when he turned to run away, I got an extra three shots, two right on his backside and one between the shoulder blades.

Serves you right, Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton. Serves you _fucking right_. 

_Je ne regrette rien._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: drug use.

The paintball victory ... it was ... OK, it was _great._

A moment to capture in your memory and frame on the walls of your consciousness. I had bought down the great Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton and his entire, wonderful, lovely family couldn't have been more pleased. _It's like you're one of us,_ Daphne said, toasting me at dinner to the adoration of the crowded table of their noisy family, and even Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton himself had raised a glass and drunk to that. Ironically, no doubt. 

But that brief flicker inside your heart that tells you for once that maybe you deserve good things, that you have a right to be happy - that damnable little voice in your head that tells you sometimes things actually do work out for you - that you belong somewhere, that you belong here, with these perfect, beautiful people, and that maybe they even like you ... you know that voice is wrong, right? It's all just an illusion.

First of all, they don't know the truth about me, not like you do. And even you, when you hear what happens next ... well, this whole goddamn shitshow is about to get really fucking messy. If it wasn't already messy enough. 

This is me we're talking about. The walking fuckup.

So, here's what went down. After dinner Colin suggested heading out to the town's only club, and Eloise and Frankie (cousins? siblings?) and Penelope (friend? another cousin? fuck I don't know but given the way Colin was looking at her, I have to hope she isn't related), anyway, those girls wouldn't take no for an answer, and Violet pushed us out the door with a laugh and a reminder to _make good choices_ (God I should have listened), and so we all piled into the minivan (ha, of course they have a fucking _minivan_ , how many kids are there anyway?) and Benedict drove. Someone ordered shots when we arrived - probably Colin. The music was loud and the lights were straight from the 1980's and it was barely more than a tiny dancefloor and some banquette seating - it was grubby and generic, nothing fashionable, and even Ed didn't bother tagging her location - but hey, we were all still dancing. 

Even Ed was dancing. Like, she had put her phone down.

Eloise and Frankie and Penelope and her were all giggling, and trying to master this stupid choreography, and getting it wrong and trying again and laughing and laughing and laughing ... but ... it wasn't even being captured. I did this rather embarrassing double take at that. Princess Edwina Sheffield, just goofing around like a normal girl? She even threw her hair into a quick pony to get it out of her face - didn't even check her _reflection_ \- not even stopping to wonder whether she was Instagram perfect for once - and I was like: _this is how it used to be, Ed._ Before your insta blew up. Before everyone wanted a piece of you, and you kept giving it away. It was a holy miracle. 

Unsurprisingly, Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton was not dancing. Of course not. He sat in the back of a booth, long legs sprawling, arms over the back, taking up maximum space in this lousy little bar. He looked like a lion - a giant cat waiting for his prey, the king of the fucking jungle, surveying his domain. I saw him watching me, with that stupid smirk on his face, as I danced with his siblings and cousins, as I did the shots and put my hands in the air and sang along with the cheesy pop, in time with his family.

 _Fuck you,_ I wanted to scream. _You think you mean anything to me, you asshole? Do you have no shame?_

But fuck him - I don't care, right? And other than him? It was really fun. 

Yeh. It _was_ fun.

Until ... until I ruined it. Of course I did. And this time? Yeh, this one is all on me. 

You want to know? You want to hear more? What I did? Where I am? Right now? 

You ready for this? 

Fuck.

OK.

Here goes.

I'm crouched on the floor of the stall in the men's bathroom. 

_Classy as fuck._

I mean, at least I'm alone? Could be _worse._ But it's a couple of hours later, and my fingernails are scratching the skin off my forearms, drawing blood, but it is not enough. There's this ringing in my ears, which won't stop, and the world spins in my narrow black hole of vision. I'm emptying the contents of my belly into a porcelain toilet bowl that I am convinced has never, ever been scrubbed. 

You're not surprised, though - are you. You might be horrified, but you're not fucking _surprised_.

Because of course I made yet another fucked up stupid impulsive decision, because I just didn't think to say _no_. For Christ's sake, I fucked my perfect little virgin sister's boyfriend in his office - did you expect _more_ from me?

And shit, it wasn't like ... Look, just to be clear? I don't do drugs to escape the trauma of my past or anything - ha, no I just drink red wine and do angry painting alone in the privacy of my own home for that. I wish I could claim social anxiety, but that's simply not true. It's never been a regular thing. I just sometimes ... I mean, the opportunity presents itself ... you only live once ... it had been a long, stressful day ... I didn't want to drink any more but wanted the party to keep going ... I wanted to feel young and silly ... and it can be fun, right? The lights, the pounding base, the softness of your new best mate's hair. You're in a club and one little tablet can take the night from merely good to _fucking incredible_. 

Or.

Or, it can leave you on the floor of the stall in the men's bathroom. Eyes struggling to stay open. Sweating and shaking and so fucking itchy all over, heart pounding so hard it feels like it will pop through your chest, alien-style, muttering curses at the jackass in the matching velour tracksuit with his stupid cheap pills that were definitely not what I asked for.

_Do I like to party. Yeh I like to party. What ya got?_

It wasn't meant to be like this.

It was a tiny thing. Yellow. Stamped with a little bee. _Cute_ , I had thought. Someone splurged on a fancy pill press from Ali Express. Such a shame it sure as shit wasn't MDMA. Who knows what it was. 

God it would be so good to just fall asleep. I'm so fucking tired. Tired of all of this.

And I know you're judging me. Judge me all you fucking like. I'm not exactly proud of any of this. It's a little hard to be proud of anything when you slept with your _perfect little virgin sister's goddamn boyfriend_ and then got so fucking _wasted_ you can't decide if you would rather vomit or tear your skin off or just fall asleep, right here, in the men's toilet. When you wiped out, and there's no-one to help you, because you're on a stupid weekend away that you only agreed to go on for very petty and pathetic and entirely selfish reasons, and the only person who knows you is that same perfect little virgin sister who is just too goddamn innocent to deal with this shit that you bought upon yourself, and she can never, ever fucking know about this. And I don't care if the rest called me an _honorary Bridgerton_ \- that was just because of some ridiculous game, and I'll never be one of them - and they do not know me and if they did they would despise me and I'll be damned to the deepest circle of hell before they see me like this. 

God, imagine if they knew what I was really like. 

Imagine if the great Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton saw me now. That random angry girl who let him fuck her in his office, a rotten mess of tears and spew and sweat. _God._

I didn't mean for this to happen.

I just didn't think.

I fucked up, OK?

God I'm tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I just playing fast and loose with the original material, or was this carefully thought out?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Drug Use / Discussions of overdose and addiction

Kate? You in here? We're leaving. Kate? 

Shit.

Fuck. 

God, Kate. Look at me, Kate. Look at me. That's right, open your eyes. It's Anthony. Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand. It's Anthony. It's going to be OK. Stay with me, Kate. What did you do, Kate? Can you tell me? What did you take? What did you take, Kate? 

Ben, fuck, _Ben pick up your goddamn phone._ Ben! You there? No, it's not. Really not. You in the car? There's an OD in the men's. Get the narcan in the glovebox, and get here _immediately_. Don't tell the others, just hurry back, OK?

Shit shit shit. _Come on._

Ambulance, please. Lightening Bar, Main Street. Suspected opioid intoxication. Young woman. Shallow breathing, but yeh, she's breathing. Vomiting, yeh, and she's in and out of consciousness. Yeh, we have narcan, about to administer. Yeh, we'll be outside. Yeh, I'll stay on the line.

Kate. Stay with me. I'm here, Kate. It's Anthony. You're going to be OK, you'll be OK, yeh?

Ant, what the... _fuck_ , is that Kate? _Shit._

Hand it over Ben, quickly. Come on, Kate. Look at me. Stay awake for me.

What can I ...?

Nothing, Ben, it's OK - I got this. The kids are all in the car, right? Don't tell them. Just say ... I dunno, say there's an emergency and I'm assisting.

Jesus, fuck. Fuck! This is just ...

Ben, can you just get the others home?

What about her sister? I'll tell her?

She's a _goddamn child_ , Ben! Just get her home with the others. Tell her Kate already left, I dunno, anything. Fuck, Ben - the kids. Do you think any of .. do you think they would have ...?

I'll talk to them, make sure no-one else ... I don't think ... they wouldn't, would they? 

Hope not. But maybe. 

You'll be OK? 

Yeh, brother. Yeh. I got this. It's ... it's OK. I need you to get the kids back, OK? She'll be OK. This will work. It has to. It just takes a minute. Just get home safe, OK?

\---

_I'm too hot and I'm too cold and it hurts, everywhere. My heart hammers, pounding. There's fresh air. I feel oddly sober, deeply humiliated, like I want to run or fight or scream. Can you die from embarrassment? Please say yes._

Hey. Kate. I'm here. I know, it's a lot. But help will be here soon, OK? Just breathe. Stay with me. 

_I'm lost in a spinning world of sensation. I think I'm lying on concrete. His hands in my hair. He's so gentle. Everything hurts. The world won't stop moving._

Kate? Stay with me.

Talk to me then.

What should I talk about, Kate?

Um. Your family. Tell me about them.

You met them all. The whole ragged bunch.

Then ... tell me about your father.

 _A laugh._ He was amazing. The best Dad a boy could ever want.

What happened?

 _This,_ Kate. This happened.

_Is he angry at me? Probably. He has every right to be. I fucked up. I didn't mean for this to happen._

You won't remember this anyway.

Then you can tell me, right?

_The words are soft, spoken slowly. Reluctant._

You heard about the accident? It was stupid - no-one's fault - just a truck that lost control. My aunt and uncle dead and Dad was injured. Not badly, but they gave him some pain meds. When the prescription ran out ... he just .. I dunno, he just changed. I don't know if it was the pain or the guilt or the stress of eight kids or what. Or just regular everyday addiction. And then one morning I found him in his study and that was it. He was gone. Just a mistake I guess. A bad batch or he took too much or... I don't think he meant ... well, we'll never know. And then Ben ... fuck ... yeh, he had a rough go of it, too, after we lost Dad. And I was off at college, and I didn't know, and then ... well, it's why Ben didn't graduate and it's why he still lives with Mum and it's why he doesn't drink. He's sober now, has been for a few years, but ...

Ben ... your brother ... was he here?

Yeh, he was. He took the others home. They're OK. They're all OK. That's my family, Kate. Ben, my Mum, those kids. _The perfect Bridgertons._

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

For what?

For ... this. For doing this. For all of it. I fucked up. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about your Dad.

Don't be. It happens. No Bridgerton man lives past 40 anyway. _A beat, like he's suddenly said too much._ What about your family?

Orphan, remember? Colonialism is a bitch, man. _I laugh but it isn't funny. It's somehow easier tonight, to say this._ Colonialism one-oh-one. Leads to conflicts which lead to wars. And wars lead to orphans. And then good white folk feel guilty and want to help and think they're doing the right thing, and maybe they are or maybe they aren't ... but ... here I am. 

Here you are.

Here I am. _Lying on the pavement, high as a fucking kite. What a mess._

 _He huffed. There's still nothing funny, though. In any of this._ Yeh. You're here with me. 

You and me. 

Me and you.

You're sweet, has anyone ever told you that? Such a sweetheart. Not the devil at all. You're being so nice to me, you know? You're so nice. You really are.

Nice? Nice seems so bland.

Nice is nice.

One thing about you, Kate, is that you are never boring.

Boring is so bland. 

You'll be OK, you know. It will all be OK.

Will it?

Yeh. Help will be here soon. Stay awake, OK? 

You'll stay with me? 

You stay with me and I'll stay with you. I'm right here, Kate. Right here. I've got you, Kate. I'm here.


	8. Chapter 8

Yeh, well.

I guess we need to talk about what happened, don't we? Now that my blood is no longer mostly alcohol and opioids. Now that I've showered, and cut off the hospital wrist band, and drunk a gallon of water, and I've collapsed into a strange bed, to sleep Sunday away.

He stayed with me, all that night. Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton: apparently a decent human being. Who knew? He sat in the back of the ambulance with me. Held my hand as they admitted me to a ward, distracted me when they gave me an IV. There were times when I didn't know what was happening, or why something needed to happen, or where I needed to go - and he simply handled it.

Urgh, I guess I have to take back my words about the usefulness of orthopaedic surgeons now.

He even - like, I can't believe this - he even pushed my phone into my hand - told me to message Edwina, told me she would be worried about where I was. He wouldn't do it - said he had no place messaging her, and that it was up to me to tell her. And that I should be honest, and that Edwina would understand - if not now, then eventually - and she deserved to know. I just texted something like I was still out and being safe and would be home in the morning, love you sis, hearts. I don't think he judged me for it - just made some comment about how it was hard to be the eldest sibling, sometimes.

The hospital didn't keep me long. Told me to rest. Drink fluids. Stay sober. Easy for me. Not so easy for others.

God. 

I am so humiliated.

Just ... the guilt and shame? It physically hurts. Far more than the hangover.

I cried in the taxi back to the house. Just a few selfish silly tears. For the record, I may be able to carry off her jumpsuit but I do not look like Fleabag when I cry. It is significantly uglier than Phoebe Waller-Bridge. He squeezed my hand and tried to make me smile - of all the things to mention, he asked: _Do you still hate me, Kate?_ I rolled my eyes and told him he was probably an OK guy after all and _fine, go ahead - just go ahead and date my sister._

This made him laugh, but I don't know why.

I was not being funny.

Look, I don't know if I'm just tired and hungover and emotionally raw and needy, but it hurts to think of him with her. I'm trying to be nothing but honest, so you should know - this pain? It's different to what I thought it was. Thing is, I want him to keep his stupid smirks and ridiculously arrogant lines for me, and me only. God, when did I get a _crush_ on him? Trust me to fancy the one guy I really shouldn't, and realise it immediately after tonight's little drama when it's not like I can expect those silly feelings to be reciprocated.

But yeh, about that drama.

There's something else I should probably mention.

Edwina was doing dawn yoga out the front of the house when the taxi pulled up. Those insta posts don't take themselves, you know.

I mean, I thought I was as low as I could possibly get - and then I saw her eyes move from me to him to me and back again. Taking it all in. Our ragged clothes and hair, the dark circles under our eyes, the way he held the door for me, how he stood close to me.

Yeh - drama. Not good.

God, I wanted the ground to swallow me up, to sink into the dirt, straight down to hell. Like, I know I fucked up and I know what I did was stupid and wrong and hurtful and mean, but seeing her face? _Christ._

And then ... fuck, the things she said.

She didn't yell. DIdn't get mad, or cry. It was just an explosion of truth that as a walking pickled corpse I could barely comprehend.

She said she wasn't even surprised that this had happened.

(She was of course technically wrong about exactly what had happened, and I do feel a bit bad about sneaking my sleeve down to cover the hospital wrist band - but I just let her keep talking and have the win. Because there is fuck all romantic or sexy about spending time in an emergency room. Really. But it's not like we hadn't, you know, a week or so ago, so ... yeh. Details, details.)

She said she didn't know why Anthony was even dating her because it took until she fell into a lake before he would even touch her in any way and that was solely from necessity - how he had never even kissed her - how he compared her to his kid cousins - how he treated her like a child - how he probably only asked her out that first time to prove that he could actually have a relationship rather than just being the hospital's playboy and how he only persisted because I had said he shouldn't and he couldn't back down from a challenge - or maybe he didn't think they were dating at all, that was certainly possible, because he certainly had cancelled on her enough times - and she knew, she knew he wasn't interested in her, and she knew they had nothing in common - but she had been flattered to think that he might have been, because no-one had ever asked her out before - not once - and he had wanted her to come this weekend and meet his family - but she gets along far better with his cousins than with him - and she had seen how he looked at me and had heard how he talked about me and seeing all day yesterday how he acted around me, and she wasn't even jealous - because it made so much sense, so much sense, and it was all clear now.

Was it? My brain was trying to keep up but please excuse me if my neurons weren't exactly firing as they should.

This isn't what it looks like, we tried to say - but that just made her laugh. _Good_ , she said. I'm glad it's not what it looks like - because it looks like the two of you are intent on being _goddamn idiots_ , living your little lies and thinking that is all you deserve, when you should actually just stop pretending. Perhaps you should both try being honest about your feelings for once.

And then she turned to me, shaking her head in disappointment: was I _happy_ now? Did it make me feel good, believing that I had managed once again to find some way to try to ruin everything? To push people out of my life? She said she would put money on me actually revelling in my self-loathing, that once again I was content to feel that this self-hatred was justified, and didn't I know that is such rubbish? Because I was wrong, so very, very wrong, and because it wouldn't work - it would never work - because no matter what I did, no matter how many mistakes I made, no matter how often I tried to cut her out or push her away, she would _always_ be my sister, _always, always, always_ , and maybe one day I would finally stop hating myself enough to realise that I deserved people in my life that cared for me, and maybe, _Christ_ , then maybe one day I would even let them in, and I would let them be a family to me, and I would let myself be loved.

 _In fact_ , she finished with a flourish, all righteous indignation and shining eyes, _I dare you_ \- go on, you two, go out together. Both of you, actually try, for once - try actually dating someone who you actually like. Do it for me. It might mean this horrible situation actually has a point.

I won't lie. It's the one time I really wished Ed had recorded herself - that these words were all in high def video - just so I could play it back, over and over, and remember that moment, perfectly, forever.


	9. Chapter 9

As the imitable Elizabeth Bennet once said, "I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands." - and take her words to heart, as I feel the need to iterate as clearly and as unequivocally as possible that this tale is absolutely not and in no circumstances meant to be read as a manual for finding love.

I just wanted to put that out there. In case you needed the reminder, having remembered my various comments about a certain Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton being, well, first of all - rather good looking, second of all - really quite good at the sex, and thirdly - a doctor (gainfully employed as well! what a _fucking dreamboat_!). Sure, he is all of those things and apparently caring towards his family and useful in a medical emergency, too. And I get it! Finding a decent guy is awfully and horribly hard (ha! _hard_ ), even when our standards as a society are so goddamn low that we will collectively find ourselves turning blind eyes to unsolicited photographs of their penis if the owner of said phallus is sometimes nice to small children or dogs. But they're NOT blind eyes because those unwanted images of cocks on your phone burn into your retinas forever. We just do nothing about it.

You know what I mean. Maybe I should have chosen a better metaphor, but I digress. 

Fine, yes, it is true that maybe, just maybe, I too have a wee bit of a schoolgirl crush on the boy - and no, I wasn't exactly disappointed with Edwina essentially forcing me to date him. I have definitely been forced into many less desirable circumstances (sorry, too bleak?).

But this is not, and never will be, how to " _get a man_ ". Do not, I repeat, do not do as I have done in the hope that, _whoops, I guess we have to date now_ because that would be an absolutely terrible idea. 

_Why?_ You ask. _It worked for you!_

Yes, perhaps it did. To some limited extent. But have you forgotten? Don't you remember? 

All of this shit is going down at Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton's _family home_. Do you know how many people are in residence there for this long weekend? _Way_ too fucking many, that's how many. And they have eyes, ears and brain cells - and they fucking _use_ them. 

There was never a snowball's chance in hell that this was going to be kept quiet. Not one.

Full disclosure. Not all of it was terrible. 

As soon as I came downstairs in the afternoon, Violet took one look at me and announced I needed tea and a buttered English muffin - she was right, I truly needed both of those things - and she bustled off to make it. She made no comment on the fact I had slept until 3pm and despite my best efforts, looked like a plague victim. One of the dead ones that were buried in mass graves in the Middle Ages. Anyway, I had thought she was a saint, but I have now elevated her to Goddess.

Daphne opened up some enormous puzzle in the living room and invited me to help her find edge pieces, which was exactly the level of mental stimulation I was up for. Another true gem of a human being, that one. Did not know she was pregnant, so there's another fun piece of information to consider. 

Oh, and Benedict grabbed my phone, added his contact details under "The Best Looking Bridgerton", and made me pinky-swear that I would call him if I ever needed ... well, anything. We talked art, and while part of me was wondering why he was bothering to try to get to know me, another part of me was completely in my element. He paints, I paint. I can work with that, even when my brain is at about 30% of typical operating speed.

So far, so good, right? What am I complaining about?

Please remember as the next part of our tale unfolds, that I am yet to actually discuss the previous evening - or indeed, anything - with the man himself. Haven't even seen him since my sister gave us both a scolding and sent us to our (separate) rooms.

It was only at dinner time when everyone in residence came back from whatever pursuits their day had included and gathered around the table. It was there I discovered that many of the younger Bridgertons fancy themselves as amateur detectives and despite being precisely the correct demographic for that god awful Frozen film, they are incapable of letting _anything_ go. What the fuck, Elsa. You're dead to me.

Like: so what happened to you last night, Anthony? You weren't in the van when we left the club. Where were you? You don't look like you were drinking - you didn't do shots with us - and you went for a run with Hastings, so you're clearly not hungover. So if you weren't drinking, where were you? Who were you with? And Ben mentioned something about an emergency? What was that all about? Was everyone OK? Who was it - anyone we know? Did you have to do CPR? God it wasn't a drug overdose was it? Anthony, you're no fun why won't you tell us anything? And Kate, you weren't in the van either, were you? Did you stay out later too? Anthony won't say anything about the emergency - he thinks we are children and can't handle it, but it's not like we aren't all teenagers now, even Hyacinth - so did you see anything? What happened? Did an ambulance come? Were you with Anthony? Did you help with the emergency? But then where did you two go after the ambulance? Because surely that didn't take that long. Are there any other clubs open later around here? Surely not, right? But what time did you get home again? 

I'm murmuring words like "yes, it was all very exciting" and "nothing really, just a night out" but this dinner is like being inside a fucking Instant Pot with the pressure valve set to sealing.

Hastings is happily tucking into his meal with this shit-eating grin, as if he knows his best mate too well. Daphne has fixed her eldest brother with a glare that would strip paint and if she holds her cutlery any tighter, the silverware will bend. Ben is being very indiscrete, looking between us with his eyebrows raised - but even he is half smiling, because there's nothing more amusing than your sibling getting ripped a new asshole by another family member (or indeed, all of them) and he knows what's coming. Violet is asking everyone to please calm down and don't forget to at least eat some vegetables, and _what does everyone think of her new recipe?_ The change of topic, alas, does not take.

Why? Because of bloody Edwina, that's why. That little traitor.

Yeh, well you can forget anything she said about sisterly love. She just waits, and smiles, and then blithely tells the entire rapt audience that she saw _both of us_ arrive home _together_ in a taxi around dawn while she was doing her yoga.

The reaction around the table is immediate and overwhelming. You thought it was a long list of questions about where we were? Fuck, you should have heard the stream of questions that followed now - not least of which was h _ang on wasn't Anthony dating Edwina?_ And Edwina - for all her lovely words on sisterhood that very morning - casually replied _oh that, that was nothing really, but I think Anthony and Kate might actually be_ ... and her voice just trailed off, while her immaculately shaped eyebrows arched delicately and suggestively, and with the precision of Hannibal Lecter, she continued to cut, spear on a fork and elegantly chew her dinner.

What a perfect little princess she is. Fuck me.

This was of course fuel to the flames - which became a raging inferno. A cacophony of Bridgertons, demanding answers. The paparazzi's have nothing on them.

I slid down my seat and felt my cheeks burn as the chaos and noise rose around me. Turns out, fun fact, large families are not actually that desirable. 

Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton eventually shut everyone up by shouting _it's none of any of your goddamn business! just eat your bloody dinner!_ and after that, only Violet had the courage to comment further.

 _Oh Anthony,_ she sighed. _I just hope you will at least take her out on a proper date. For me? Please?_

Bloody hell, Violet. Way to lay the guilt on. And after the tea and buttered English muffin, it's not like I could refuse her anything. Jesus.

Magically, everyone disappeared once the meal was complete - food was gone, and poof! the room was empty - which meant that Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton and I were left on clean up duty. Hot, right?

Ooh talk dirty dishes and scrubbing saucepans to me, baby. So sexy.

I know you're secretly wondering if we - _gasp!_ \- held hands in the soapy dishwater, or passionately kissed in the pantry, or fervently declared our intentions while packing the dishwasher, or if he bent me over the kitchen island and had his way with me?

Yeh, no. Tidying up after a huge dinner for way too many fucking people is a little like spending the night in the emergency room: not romantic or sexy at all.

( _Neither was his office_ , I hear you say. Yeh, well. Maybe I'm growing as a human being. Or maybe he regrets it. Or it wasn't as good for him as it was for me. Or maybe his mother's kitchen is a step too far.)

There was one moment, though, when we're standing by the sink, just after he passed me the liquid soap, when Doctor Anthony Fucking Bridgerton asked _are you OK, really,_ looking deep into my eyes - the world disappearing until it was just us, in this moment, our souls bared through the intimacy of holding each other's gaze in silence. 

Awwww that's so ... lovely, and sweet, and sort of hot too, you think? A heady gaze, a precursor to our lips meeting, our hands reaching out to hold each other?

Nah.

Sorry.

He was checking out the size of my fucking _pupils_ to see if I had used again. Which, of course I bloody hadn't - I didn't really intend on taking opioids in the first place! Jesus!

So I shut that shit down by asking him if he was enquiring after my wellbeing as my _goddamn doctor_ or as my brand new _boyfriend_. Not missing a beat, he replied _porque no los dos_? like the smartass he is, so I happily told him I would be filing a complaint with the hospital's ethics committee first thing in the morning. 

Yeh, definitely more awkward than sexy. And I told you he was a fucking prick. I wasn't wrong.

It was even worse when he mentioned an event in a week's time - some drinks thing for the College of Surgeons - and he didn't so much ask me to go but simply stated _you'll come with me_. This fucker just gets what he wants, with minimal effort, it seems - and that ruffled my feathers. Privileged. Entitled. Arrogant. Asshole. 

That said ... between my gratitude for everything he has done over the last 24 hours, and us having a friendship of sorts, and the expectations of both Edwina and Violet ... can you blame me for saying _yeh sure, I'll go_? 

Just to clarify, my little crush on him has nothing to do with accepting this date. None. 

You don't believe me, do you? But it's true!

And I can prove it, because I may have put a condition on our date. _No sex._

Honestly, it was worth it just to see his handsome face crumple in confusion. I don't think he has ever had a person refuse him sex, and that's a life experience everyone needs to have - preferably more than once. Builds character. And yes, the sex was good - very good, God, it was _so good,_ and that was just angry hate sex in his office, can you imagine if there had been a _bed_ involved? OK I'm locking those thoughts away for now, I'll have to revisit that line of thinking later, when I'm alone - but ... I mean, do you think I'm in a place in my life where I can go on a date and then have sex - again - with this very inappropriate man who recently dated my sister and for whom I may be developing slightly uncomfortable tender feelings - and just think, _yeh, it's all going to be totally fine_?

Really?!

I'm not that delusional.

It will not be _fine_. It will be a fast train to heartbreak city, population _me_.

I may not have talked to my therapist lately but I think she'd be proud. Setting boundaries and all that. Wouldn't she? Urgh, she would probably say that I should consider being open and honest and using my words to express my emotions, but boundaries are a solid start, right?

Anyway, ultimately, I don't think he was too bothered - once he had schooled his gorgeous features back from complete shock, that is. Instead, he made some comment that we were basically just friends, we were doing this date to keep our respective families happy, and it wasn't like either of us were expecting _love_ , because that is never what it would be - to which I hastily agreed, of course.

No, of course. Not _love_. No, no way. This would never be _love_ , urgh. 

It's just a date, with no sex and no love. No romance, no passion. Just a mutually beneficial attendance at an event to keep other people happy.

So you see now? Zero stars, would not recommend. Please, do yourself a favour and find a man literally any other way. Dick pics and all.


End file.
